


Just Christmas

by RadarsTeddyBear



Category: DuckTales (Cartoon 2017)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Christmas, Dewey Duck - Freeform, Episode: s01e09 The Impossible Summit of Mt. Neverrest!, Family, Gen, Huey Dewey and Louie, Huey Duck - Freeform, Louie Duck - Freeform, Scrooge McDuck - Freeform, introspective
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-24
Updated: 2018-12-24
Packaged: 2019-09-25 04:52:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,491
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17114834
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RadarsTeddyBear/pseuds/RadarsTeddyBear
Summary: Scrooge doesn't quite bring the kids home in time for Christmas, and Donald can't help but be upset about it.Takes place right after "The Impossible Summit of Mount Neverrest!"





	Just Christmas

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by [this Tumblr post](http://radarsteddybear.tumblr.com/post/181377999355/robinine-blog-lilkitsunemischief).

Donald had been so certain that this year would be a good Christmas.  No, a _great_ Christmas.  He’d been able to get a few odd jobs here and there, and since he didn’t have to pay for dock space or utilities or regular meals anymore, he was actually able to afford nice presents this year.  He’d make his patented Christmas hot chocolate (not to be confused with regular, every-other-day-of-the-year hot chocolate), the boys would each open one present from him in the houseboat before moving over to the Manor for breakfast and the rest of the presents, and maybe he and Scrooge would even tell the kids about the Christmases they used to have...well, before.  And maybe they’d have a Christmas music dance party (a holiday staple on the houseboat), have Christmas dinner (a joint effort between Donald and Mrs. Beakley), and watch an old Christmas movie or two. Probably interspersed with a few foam-dart-gun fights or something else equally disruptive and unsuitable for the house.

At least, that was how Christmas was _supposed_ to have gone.

Instead, Scrooge had taken the kids on yet another crazy adventure, making sure not to mention it to Donald until he’d gotten them thoroughly excited and invested in it, with the promise that they’d be back in time for the holiday.

Welp.   _Officially,_ the holiday had started at midnight ten hours ago; on a normal Christmas morning, the holiday would have started three or four hours ago when the kids would have excitedly bounded into his room to wake him up for presents and that Christmas hot chocolate.  But presents remained unopened, the hot chocolate had long since gotten cold, and the small Christmas tree--small this year only because the houseboat was small--was only partially decorated. Boxes holding ornaments, lights, and tinsel were scattered on the floor, waiting for someone to come along and fight over how to string them on the tree and the surrounding boat this year.  The only part of the houseboat that was ready for Christmas was the smokestack, which Donald always did on his own, though it was weird not having Huey guiding him and holding onto the ladder. Usually, all of this decorating was done a week or two before the holiday itself, but between schoolwork and all of the adventures Scrooge had insisted on taking the kids on, they hadn’t had the time.

The clock ticked loudly on the wall.  Anger boiled inside him, coupled with the bitter taste of “I told you so” from the part of him that still held onto the old pain from all those years ago.

 _Finally,_ Donald heard the sound of a motor coming from outside.  He threw on his scarf and marched over to the mansion, where Scrooge, Launchpad, and the kids were just coming in the front door.

“Where have you been? _”_ Donald demanded, putting a swift end to the laughter and smiles.

“Having the best sledding adventure of our lives,” Dewey said, giving Webby a high-five.

“We climbed Mount Neverrest,” Huey clarified.  “Well, except Louie, who stayed behind.”

“Hey, no treasure, no Louie,” Louie said with a shrug.

“Are you forgetting what day it is?” Donald said to Scrooge, arms crossed tightly.

“What, it’s December--” Scrooge thought for a moment.  “I suppose it is December 25th,” he said, almost to himself.

“And?” Donald said, raising an eyebrow.

"Relax, Uncle Donald," said Louie.  "It's just Christmas."

Donald felt like he’d been punched in the gut.  "Yeah," he said. "Just Christmas." He turned around and walked out the door, out of the mansion, and to the houseboat, softly closing each door behind him.  He looked sadly at the partially-decorated Christmas tree and the open boxes of ornaments, wondering why he had even bothered. He retreated into his bedroom, where at least there weren't any holiday reminders to make him feel foolish and forgotten.

Donald's thoughts swirled bitterly.   _How could it be 'just Christmas’?_ met _Well, sure, we rarely had much for Christmas, so I guess it was never really special,_ which turned into _I did all I could to give them the best Christmases I could, why did I even--how could--_ and suddenly Donald's thoughts were drowned out by the sound of sobs.  Big, heavy, ugly sobs, the kind he hadn't been able to cry in _years_ because he was an adult and an uncle and he couldn't let the kids see him cry like that.

They didn’t last long, though, before he was swallowing them back down and raking a hand over his face to wipe the tears away and bring himself back to the present.  Donald Duck was an adult and a uncle and Christmas was just another day and wallowing in self-pity never got anybody anywhere.

Donald went and got himself a glass of water, pointedly ignoring the used-to-be-hot chocolate on the counter.  He drank it slowly, forcing himself not to think of anything else until he was done. There. That was better.

Donald had options.  He could go back into the Manor and pretend nothing had happened and still do Christmas.  But he still didn’t feel ok enough to pretend everything was fine. And what if they were already doing Christmas without him?  Donald felt his throat tighten again. But if it was _“just Christmas,”_ why would they even be celebrating at all?

A sudden flash of anger ripped through Donald.  _Just Christmas._  If it was “ _just Christmas_ ,” why bother having anything Christmas-related up?  He spun on his heels and stormed over to the half-naked tree.  Donald grabbed it by its upper branches and yanked it down onto the floor, sending ornaments rolling around the floor like marbles.

Donald stood seething over the tree, staring down at the mess he’d made.   _As if Christmas hadn’t been ruined enough already._ His throat tightened again and his chest started to hurt.  Donald buried his face in his hands. Why did he always manage to make everything _worse?_

He started thinking again.  He could go to Grandma’s house.  She was always there with a listening ear and a fresh batch of cookies (not to mention some work that needed to be done, but Donald never minded).  But somehow, showing up at Grandma's unannounced on Christmas crying about how Scrooge had ruined Christmas by taking his kids away from him for the day felt like...overreacting.  Besides, Donald seemed to remember a Christmas or two where Scrooge hadn’t gotten him and Della back until halfway through the holiday, and Grandma had never seemed to mind. Then again, Scrooge very well may have told her not to expect them until noon or later.  And besides, Gus would be there, and, while Donald liked Gus well enough, he didn’t much like him being around when he was pouring his heart out to Grandma.  Not that Gus seemed to listen much, but he didn’t always seem to understand the concept of “private conversation.”

Donald could--he could start drawing up the papers to transfer guardianship of his nephews to Scrooge.  They seemed to like him better than Donald, anyway. Honestly, they always seemed to like everyone else in the family better than Donald.  And that might not have mattered so much if Donald were _actually_ their father, but he wasn’t.  Maybe they would be better with someone else.  Scrooge would certainly be able to care for them, and a lot better than he ever had.  With Scrooge, Huey, Dewey, and Louie could miss all of the Christmases they didn’t care about.  They’d fit right in.

Donald shook that thought out of his head.  No. No, he was definitely the best guardian for the boys, even if it didn’t always feel like it.  Gladstone and his luck would have taught them that they deserved to have everything for nothing. Grandma was much too old to raise three kids full time, and she couldn’t quite afford it, not in today’s world.  Fethry was too flighty and all over the place to raise three kids. And Scrooge? Well, aside from the fact that he was responsible for...well, he was much too busy and distant and he didn’t know the first thing about kids, let alone raising them.  Not to mention the danger.

Donald put his glass in the sink and made a decision.  He _had_ to get out of the houseboat, if only for a little while.  His head definitely needed clearing, and guzzling water wasn’t going to do it.  He grabbed his coat and his car keys and left, locking the houseboat behind him out of habit.  He made his way to his little red car and drove down the long driveway, giving absolutely no thought as to where he was going to go.

 

* * *

 

After about an hour and a half of driving aimlessly through and outside of Duckburg, Donald finally felt like his head had cleared.  The drive had reminded him of when the boys were babies, and he’d drive them around to sooth them to sleep. Except this time, _he’d_ been the one who’d needed to be soothed.

Donald pulled his car into the Manor driveway and shut off the engine.

Tomorrow would be a new day.  It wouldn’t be Christmas anymore, and they’d be able to put all of this behind them.  Donald would repurpose the boys’ gifts for their birthday, and they could all pretend this never happened.  At least until next year, when Donald might just decide to go away by himself for the holiday.  He wondered if anyone would notice…

“Uncle Donald!”

Donald turned in surprise as four ducklings ran over to him as he stepped out of his car.

“Where have you been?” Huey demanded, hands on his hips.  

“Yeah!  We saw the Christmas tree on the floor and thought--” Louie stopped himself.

“I just went for a drive,” Donald said brusquely.  He locked the car doors with a beep and started to walk around to the back of the Manor.

“Wait!” Dewey said.  “You--you have to come in that way.”  He pointed to the front door.

Donald sighed.  He just wanted a nap.  “Kids, I--”

“Yeah!  We fixed Christmas!” Webby said, bouncing up and down.  “Come on!”

Donald followed the kids, wondering what exactly “fixing Christmas” meant.  He wasn’t sure he was quite ready to get his hopes up, though a certain warm, fuzzy feeling blossoming in his stomach clearly felt otherwise.

“Merry Christmas!” the kids shouted as they pulled Donald through the door.  

A large, still-dripping banner echoing the kids’ sentiments in bright red paint hung over the stairs.  Scrooge’s professionally-decorated Christmas tree (the professional, of course, being Mrs. Beakley) stood in the corner, as it had for the last few weeks, protectively guarding a much fatter pile of presents than had been there yesterday.  A fire crackled in the fireplace, and Donald made a mental note to make sure that had been Mrs. Beakley’s doing rather than the kids’. A crockpot sat on a small table next to the tree, surrounded by freshly-baked (by the kids, judging from the lopsided shapes) cookies.  

“What’s...this?” Donald asked.

“It’s Christmas!” Dewey said as Huey poured a ladleful from the crockpot into a mug and handed it to Donald.

“What’s _this?_ ” Donald asked again, peering suspiciously at the warm brown liquid inside.

“It’s your Christmas hot chocolate!” Dewey said.  “Huey made it.”

That did not exactly inspire confidence.  “What did you put in it?” Donald asked, examining it as if he could somehow figure out each individual ingredient if he looked hard enough.

“What you put in it,” Huey said.  He counted off on his fingers. “Eggnog, hot cocoa powder, cinnamon, nutmeg--”

“Wait!” Webby said.  She pulled out a pastry bag and piped a generous swirl on top of Donald’s drink.

“--and homemade whipped cream,” Huey finished.  “That was Webby’s idea.”

Donald took a sip.  It was good. _Really_ good.  

“Wow,” he said.  He gave Huey’s feathers a ruffle.  “Looks like someone’s been paying attention.”

“Hang on!” Dewey said, over by Donald’s stereo, evidently brought into the house by the kids.  He pushed a button and the sound of Bing Crosby crooning “White Christmas” gently filled the room.  “ _Now_ it’s Christmas.”

The sound of heavy footsteps and a tapping cane drew their attention to the stairs.  A familiar figure emerged from the shadows on the landing and slowly made his way towards the happy group, stopping in front of his nephew.

“Donald,” he said.

“Scrooge,” Donald replied.

Scrooge looked away.  “I just wanted to--” He fiddled with his cane.

“Yes?” Donald said, crossing his arms.

Scrooge sighed.  “I wanted to apologize,” he said.  “I shouldnae have taken the kids on a trip during the holiday without ye.”

Donald nodded.  “There are going to have to be some changes,” he said.

“We can talk about that another time.”  Scrooge side-eyed the kids. “Privately.”

The two stood in awkward silence for a moment before Scrooge turned towards Webby and his nephews.

“Now you kids open those blasted presents already.  I didnae put up all this just so they could sit there for the next year.”

The kids gleefully ran towards the Christmas tree, and soon the room was filled with bits of torn wrapping paper and excited oohs and ahhhs.  

Donald raised an eyebrow.  “I’m surprised you actually splurged on gifts.”

“Yeah, well.”  Scrooge looked supremely uncomfortable.  He waved a hand dismissively over the joyous scene before him  “Bah, humbug,” he said, turning to retreat up the stairs to spend the rest of the day angry at the world for all of its “crass commercialism” and “empty sentiment.”

Ah, tradition.

 

* * *

 

After the annual Christmas music dance party and a big Christmas dinner of roast turkey and all the trimmings, the family settled in to watch _Christmas on Bear Mountain,_ a family tradition that Donald had retained even after cutting ties with Scrooge.  Donald found himself with a nephew on either side and the third hanging on the back of the couch near his shoulders.  Webby was curled up into her grandmother on the other side of the couch, and Scrooge was sitting over in the chair, and if Donald didn’t know any better, he would have sworn that the old codger was enjoying himself.  

Huey snuggled closer into Donald’s side.  “I’m really sorry about earlier, Uncle Donald,” he whispered.

Donald couldn’t help but smile as he gave his nephew a squeeze.

“Yeah,” Dewey added from somewhere around his right ear.  “But we’ll make it up next year. It’s going to be the best Christmas ever!”

Donald chuckled.

“Personally, I blame Uncle Scrooge,” Louie said, garnering the attention of everyone in the room.  “What?”

Well.  He wasn’t _entirely_ wrong.

Lucky for Louie, the film’s opening music was fading into the background as the opening credits transitioned into the first scene, regaining everyone’s attention.

Donald watched the movie with a smile on his face.  This had turned out to be a pretty good Christmas after all.


End file.
